Camilla Lackberg Crime Thrillers 1-3: The Ice Princess, The Preacher, The Stonecutter. Camilla Lackberg
An icy cold spread through her body. In the mirror she saw that she was holding the phone with white knuckles.
‘Don’t do anything, Anders. Just wait there. I’m coming.’
‘Okay, but hurry for God’s sake. This isn’t the usual way the cops arrive, Mamma, they usually come in one car. Now there are three cars outside with all their blue lights and sirens going. Damn …’
‘Anders, listen to me now. Take a deep breath and calm down. I’m going to hang up now and I’ll be there as quick as I can.’
She could hear that she’d managed to calm him a little, but as soon as she hung up she threw on her coat and ran out the door, not bothering to lock it.
She ran across the car park beyond the old taxi stand and took the short-cut behind the loading dock of Eva’s Foods. She had to slow down after that, and it took her almost ten minutes to reach the block of flats where Anders lived.
She got there in time to see two husky policemen lead him away in handcuffs. A shriek surged up in her chest, but she forced it back when she saw all the neighbours hanging out their windows like snooping vultures. There was no way she was going to give them more of a show than what they had already witnessed. Her pride was all she had left. Vera hated the gossip that she knew clung to her and Anders like chewing-gum. There was always a lot of whispering going on, and now it would gather speed. She knew what they were going to say: ‘Poor Vera, first her husband drowns and then her son ruins his life with booze. And she’s such a dependable person.’ Yes, she knew exactly what they were going to say. But she also knew that she would do everything in her power to limit the damage. She just couldn’t break down now. Then everything would collapse like a house of cards. Vera turned to the closest police officer, a small blonde woman Vera thought looked ill-suited to the severe police uniform. She still hadn’t got used to the newfangled arrangement that women could apparently do any job they liked.
‘I’m Anders Nilsson’s mother. What’s happening here? Where are you taking him?’
‘Unfortunately I can’t give you any information. You’ll have to check with the police station in Tanumshede. They’re taking him there under arrest.’
Her heart sank with every word. She understood that it wasn’t about a drunken fight this time. The police cars began driving off one by one. In the last one she saw Anders sitting between two officers. He turned round as they pulled away and looked at her until they drove out of sight.
Patrik saw the car with Anders Nilsson drive off in the direction of Tanumshede. The massive police presence had been a little overdone, he thought. But Mellberg wanted a show, so there was a show. Extra resources from Uddevalla had been called in to assist in the arrest. In Patrik’s opinion the only result was that, of the six men present, it was a waste of time for at least four of them.
A woman was still standing in the car park, gazing after the police cars.
‘The perp’s mother,’ said senior constable Lena Waltin from the Uddevalla police, who had also stayed behind to help Patrik search Anders Nilsson’s flat.
‘You know better, Lena – he’s not a “perp” before he’s found guilty and convicted. Until then he’s just as innocent as the rest of us.’
‘I sure as hell doubt that. I’d bet a year’s salary that he’s guilty.’
‘If you’re so sure, then you would bet more than such a negligible sum.’
‘Ha ha, very funny. Joking with a cop about salary is like tripping a cripple, for God’s sake.’
Patrik had to agree. ‘No, there’s probably not much to expect. Shall we go up?’
He saw that Anders’s mother was still standing there gazing after the squad cars, even though they had long since disappeared from view. He felt genuinely sorry for her and considered for a moment going over to offer some words of solace. But Lena pulled on his sleeve and motioned towards the entrance to the building. He sighed, shrugged his shoulders and followed her inside to execute the search warrant.
They tried the door to Anders Nilsson’s flat. It was unlocked and they could walk straight into the hall. Patrik looked around and sighed for the second time in a minute. The flat was in sad shape, and he wondered how they would ever find anything of value in this mess. They stepped over empty bottles in the hall and surveyed the living room and kitchen.
‘Damn.’ Lena shook her head in disgust.
They took thin plastic gloves out of their pockets and pulled them on. In silent agreement, Patrik started in the living room while Lena took the kitchen.
It was a slightly schizophrenic feeling to be in Anders Nilsson’s living room. Filthy, filled with trash, and with an almost total lack of furniture and personal objects, it looked like a classic crash pad for a drunk. And Patrik had seen plenty of those during his years on the force. But he had never been inside a drunk’s flat where the walls were covered with art. The paintings were so close together that they completely filled the walls, from three feet above the floor all the way to the ceiling. It was an explosion of colour that made Patrik’s eyes hurt, and he had to stifle an impulse to put up his hand to shield them. The paintings were abstract, painted only in warm colours, and they struck Patrik like a kick in the stomach. The feeling was so physical that he had to fight to stand upright. He had to force himself to turn away from the paintings because they seemed to be jumping off the walls at him.
Cautiously he began looking through Anders’s things. There wasn’t that much to look at. For a moment Patrik felt very grateful for the privileged life he led in comparison. His own problems all at once seemed very small. It fascinated him that the human will to survive was so strong that despite the complete absence of any quality of life, one still chose to go on, day after day, year after year. Was there any cause for rejoicing left in a life like Anders Nilsson’s? Did he ever experience the emotions that made life worth living: joy, anticipation, happiness, elation? Or was everything merely a stop on the way to the next shot of alcohol?
Patrik went through everything in the living room. He felt the mattress to see if anything was hidden inside, pulled out the drawers in the only cabinet and checked underneath. He carefully unhooked all the paintings one by one and looked behind them. Nothing. Absolutely nothing aroused his interest. He went out to the kitchen to see whether Lena had had better luck.
‘What a pig sty. How the hell can anybody live like this?’
With a disgusted expression she went through the contents of a rubbish bin that she emptied onto a newspaper.
‘Have you found anything interesting?’ Patrik asked.
‘Yes and no. I found some receipts in the trash. The list of calls on the telephone bill might be something to look at more closely. Otherwise the rest just seems to be garbage.’ She pulled off her plastic gloves with a snap. ‘What do you say? Should we call it a day?’
Patrik looked at the clock. They had already been there for two hours, and it was dark outside.
‘Yes, it doesn’t seem we’ll get much further today. How are you getting home? Do you need a lift?’
‘I brought my own car, so I’m okay. Thanks anyway.’
They left the flat with relief, careful not to leave it in the same unlocked state as when they arrived.
The streetlights were lit when they came out to the car park. It had begun to snow lightly while they were inside, and they both had to brush a good deal of snow from their windscreens. When Patrik drove off towards the OK Q8 petrol station he felt something rise to the surface in his mind, something that had been gnawing at him all day. In the silence of his car, alone with his thoughts, he had to admit that something didn’t feel right about the arrest of Anders Nilsson. He wasn’t confident that Mellberg had asked the right questions when he interviewed the witness, which had caused Anders to be brought in to the station. Perhaps he ought to take a closer look at the matter. In the middle of the intersection by the petrol station Patrik made up his mind. He turned the